


Warm Up

by paranoid_fridge



Series: Explicit Bagginshield Oneshots [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fluffy Porn, M/M, Thorin warms Bilbo up, and the room gets heated too, retired to the Shire AU, seriously this is pwp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 09:05:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4700213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranoid_fridge/pseuds/paranoid_fridge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On one of their walks, Bilbo tumbles into a stream. They make it back to Bag End and Bilbo demands Thorin warm him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm Up

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was "write fluffy porn". I tried.

In the years after Thorin settled in the Shire, he and Bilbo have gotten into the habit of taking long walks. Initially it was to familiarize Thorin with the area, get away from noisy neighbors, curious visitors, and the sheer endless correspondence streaming in from Erebor. Fili – while truly a skilled ruler – nonetheless made a habit of relegating his uncle with a numerous cheerful complaints, often accompanied by Kili’s far more direct writings of “how could you, both of you! I trusted you, and you leave us with this mountain and frolic off to distant lands? Do you know Lord Froin still opposes trading with the woodland realm? Can we just exile him already?”

The letters are in good humor, but many, and Thorin dutifully answers each and every one until Bilbo tells him to get out of the house and ignore the ravens that wait impatiently at the front porch.

Years later the missives are not quite so frequent. Fili and Kili still send their complaints, sometimes Dwalin inquires about the Shire’s security situation. Dori sends tea samples, Nori curious rumors and Bifur long Khuzdul poetry.

It takes a dwarven caravan passing through Bree for Thorin and Bilbo to understand what the point of the poems is. Apparently the head scribe of Erebor – namely Ori – has, after completing his magnum opus on the quest, sat down to write the tale of Thorin and Bilbo. Including several poems, sketches and bawdy songs.

Bilbo and Thorin decided not to ask for a copy.

They receive one anyway.

***

This year the air is surprisingly cold already, but it’s a sunny and bright day. Though Bilbo shivers when they first leave the house, an hour into their walk Thorin unbuttons his coat. They have left the settlements behind, though he sees steam rise from behind the hills to their right. Their path follows one of the Shire’s little rivers into the hills south of Hobbiton. Grazing cows and sheep watch their progress, a duck squawks at them as they pass. Bilbo hums a cheerful melody, while Thorin soaks up the peace.

Almost ten years in the Shire, and he still can scarcely believe that this is his life now. After so much toil and upset, the grievances and losses of his youth and adulthood it seemed unthinkable that he should settle. But in this quiet corner of the world, where busybody neighbors and mismatched clothes are the worst of their worries, he finally finds himself again.

Though even if Thorin has reached balance on a metaphorical level, Bilbo literally loses his. A stone crumbles under the hobbit’s foot, he squeaks, Thorin reaches out a moment too late, misses –

And with a loud splash Bilbo falls into the small stream. Thorin jumps forward, heart in his throat, already stripping off his coat to throw himself in –

Bilbo sits up in the stream. The water – even as he sits on the stream’s bottom – does not come up above his waist. Thorin breathes out in relieve, while Bilbo climbs back to his feet, muttering under his breath.

A smile steals over Thorin’s face.

“What are you grinning at?” Bilbo inquires moodily, “Stop that, and give me your coat!” He shrugs off his own, now soaked jacket and a soft breeze reminds Thorin that for the lack of clouds in the sky, it’s late autumn and quite cool.

“Alright, alright,” he agrees and helps Bilbo get off his vest too. The garment is surprisingly cold, and Bilbo’s skin feels freezing to the touch. Thorin hurries to wrap his own fur coat around those smaller set of hobbit shoulders and rubs them for good measure.

“Let’s get home then,” he says, “Before you catch a cold.” He wraps an arm around Bilbo and draws him close, not minding that the water dripping from Bilbo’s hair now soaks his own clothes. Neither does he mind the raised eyebrows they get from farmer Maggot on their way back.

By the time they reach Bag End, Bilbo is thoroughly chilled and Thorin starting to worry. He’s glad when a gust of warm air greets them as they push open the round door.

“Go and take a hot bath,” Thorin tells his beloved, “I’ll make some tea and build a fire.” He presses a kiss in Bilbo’s hair before turning toward the kitchen. He’ll warm up the sitting room and the study too. They still have enough, though perhaps Thorin should go out and cut some more tomorrow.

Years in Bag End have familiarized Thorin with the location of everything required to make tea. In spite of his best attempts, his own brews never come out quite as balanced as Bilbo’s, but recently Drogo Baggins actually complimented Thorin’s tea. There’s hope yet.

He loses himself in getting Bilbo’s soaked clothing to the laundry room, putting on the kettle and tidying away little knickknacks. It’s a little early to start on supper, but a warm broth for Bilbo should not go amiss. Somewhere in the smial a door goes, and Thorin thinks Bilbo is probably out of the bath now.

Thorin wanders back into the kitchen, takes off the kettle, and looks for something to make a good soup with. Bilbo always seems to grab what is at hand and magic it into something delicious – Thorin isn’t quite daring enough to copy this style of cooking yet.

“Thorin,” Bilbo calls, and Thorin jumps. He’s never heard the footsteps behind him.

He turns, presses a hand to his heart. “You’re s –” still so sneaky, he wants to say, but the words get stuck in his throat.

Bilbo leans in the doorframe, Thorin coat wrapped around his naked shoulders. It sits beautifully askew – the fur has slipped off one shoulder, revealing the unblemished skin underneath. Thorin’s eyes follow the line down to Bilbo’s chest, but there the coat has been drawn together, held in place by nimble fingers. Bare feet and ankles emerge from the bottom, where the fabric pools on the ground.

“Thorin,” Bilbo calls again, and the dwarf looks up, his throat abruptly dry. Bilbo grins, wriggles an eyebrow in an overly suggestive manner and says: “Warm me up?”

Thorin drops the pan he is holding with a loud clang, crosses the room in three steps and sweeps Bilbo up in his arms, giving a short squeeze to the hobbit’s buttocks on the way. The hobbit gasps in surprise, then laughs, while Thorin’s pulse beats in time with his steps.

“Don’t worry,” Thorin promises, his voice dropping as he tries to deliver them to the bedroom as soon as possible without hitting a wall in the process, “I will.”

Bilbo shivers, wraps his arms around Thorin’s neck and buries his face there.

“Then do,” he murmurs. Warm breath tickles Thorin’s skin, then lips brush over the sensitive flesh. His heartbeat quickens; a first tendril of tingling shoots down into his groin. He tightens his grip on Bilbo, thankful the difference in size allows him to carry the hobbit on one arm alone.

With the other hand he pushes open the bedroom door, and then shivers simultaneously from the cooler air and small teeth beginning to nibble at the skin there. A noise or another escapes from his throat, and now his cock is certainly interested. Heat pools in his groin; he crosses the room and kicks the door shut behind him.

“Thorin –” Bilbo begins, but exactly then Thorin drops him. Bilbo lands on his back, bounces on the pillows, and the coat flaps open. Reveals bare skin, except for where Bilbo still clutches the seams together.

Thorin’s eyes trace the exposed skin hungrily – all smooth and soft, and after years still so deliciously different from his own body – then he shrugs off his shoes and crawls onto the bed. Bilbo greets him by grasping his braids, pulls him down for a kiss.

The hobbit’s skin is warm from the bath and smells slightly spicy. Thorin closes his eyes, lets himself be drawn deeper into the kiss. Bilbo’s tongue slips past his own lips, forward and exploring, seeking out the warmth that suffuses Thorin. They shift the angle, noses brushing in a manner that should be uncomfortable, but is far from it. Bilbo’s tongue retreats, now Thorin pushes forward, exploring with leisure.

He sinks down, catches himself on his elbows while Bilbo’s hands wander up, bury themselves in his hair. Their kiss deepens, the world spins away and they linger there until the need for air draws them apart.

A flush covers Bilbo’s cheeks, a glaze his eyes, and nimble hands slip underneath his shirt. Thorin dives lower, peppers kisses along the column of Bilbo’s throat – a soft groan rewards him and Bilbo tilts his head further back, allowing better access.

Gently Thorin works the skin there with his teeth – Bilbo hums happily, Thorin’s trousers grow tight, and he feels a responding hardness poke his thigh. His body feels warm, good – he will savor this, tonight.

His fingers slide lower, trace the familiar outlines of Bilbo’s body, before his lips follow swiftly. A gasp falls from Bilbo’s lips when Thorin playfully tweaks a nipple. The hands caressing his own back stiffen abruptly, and for a moment nails dig into his skin, putting pressure onto stiff muscles and a part of Thorin wants Bilbo to press harder.

“Up for a massage, are you?” Bilbo mutters, managing to look oddly unimpressed in spite of his flush.

Thorin smirks. “If you’re offering.”

“Later,” Bilbo decides and pushes himself up on his elbows. The coat falls completely open now, revealing his nakedness and hardness. Eager lips seek Thorin’s again, while fingers begin to undo the buttons on Thorin’s shirt.

“You,” Bilbo mumbles in the small gaps between their kisses, “Are wearing … too many clothes.”

Thorin is happy to chuck the shirt aside the moment the last button is undone. Bilbo bends forward to kiss Thorin’s chest and the tattoos there, fingers already wandering toward the fastenings of Thorin’s trousers. Heat pools in his groin, and Thorin helps him undo the strings.

Then he pushes Bilbo back onto his back, while he wriggles out of his trousers and undergarments. It certainly must look much less suave than it feels, but in the rising temperatures of their bedroom, confidence makes Thorin bold and Bilbo watches him with undiminished excitement.

He kisses his way down Bilbo’s body, over his chest and stomach, down to his thighs. Sneaks a hand under each knee and pushes them apart, but keeps his lips on the soft skin of Bilbo’s inner thighs, ignoring the reddening member in between.

A high keen from Bilbo makes his throat run dry. Thorin blows a soft breath over the tip of Bilbo’s cock, and the hobbit shudders in response.

“Thorin,” Bilbo mumbles, hands reaching for his hair and tangling in it, “Stop teasing.”

“Says the greatest tease of them all,” Thorin replies, caressing the soft skin on the underside of Bilbo’s thighs with his calloused fingers. Then he brushes his lips over Bilbo’s cock, before diving lower and parting Bilbo’s well-rounded buttocks with his hands. The hobbit lifts his hips eagerly, making a small noise in the back of his throat.

He massages the skin around the hole with his fingers, at least until Bilbo tugs at his hair. “Thorinnnnn,” the hobbit pleads, and planting one more kiss on Bilbo’s leaking cock, Thorin sits back. Bilbo watches him with glazed eyes, sweat-covered chest heaving.

Thorin can’t stop himself from seeking out those swollen lips once more, delighting in their softness. Bilbo opens up under him, demands more, but Thorin detaches himself and reaches across, fumbling for a moment with the bedside drawer, before he finds the small oil flask.

He gives Bilbo another, languid kiss while his hands work the stop from the flask and dip into the oil. Its sweet scent rises up, sending another spike down Thorin’s groin. He takes a shuddering breath, steadies himself against the insistent throb between his hips and the desire to take Bilbo now. His fingers trace their along Bilbo’s balls to their goal, shivering with anticipation.

Bilbo moans. Precum leaks from his cock and small, demanding fingers reach for Thorin and draw him in. He barely remembers to keep his fingers moving – teasing the muscle, spreading the oil – while he stretches himself over Bilbo to kiss the hobbits chest. Worries his nipples with tongue and teeth and Bilbo jerks under the ministrations.

“Just,” Bilbo pants, “Just do it.” Sweat covers his entire body by now and Thorin takes pleasure in the sight. “Please.”

Oh, how he wants to, Thorin thinks and searches for Bilbo’s glazed eyes. “Not quite yet,” he mumbles, setting his chin against Bilbo’s chest, as he works in two fingers. Bilbo makes a choked noise in the back of his throat, bucking up against Thorin’s body.

“I won’t last,” he half-heartedly threatens between taking deep gulps of air, “I won’t. Please, Thorin.”

For a moment Thorin contemplates teasing. He could always reach for the belt, tie Bilbo’s hands over his head, and then drive him past the brink. Play with him until Bilbo’s eyes roll back in his head and he dissolves into a mass of quivering hobbit, blind to everything but the sensations his overwrought nerve endings transmit.

A spike travels down Thorin’s spine, and he’s suddenly far too close to the edge. His vision flickers and he has to force himself back, back, back; not yet.

When his vision clears Bilbo has wrapped around him like an overly enthusiastic octopus and is either trying to roll them over or to gain friction. His hardness rubs against Thorin’s thigh, leaving a smear of precum along the way, and Thorin takes a shuddering breath. His entire body seems to be on fire, the air in the room stifling.

He needs to come. Now.

Even as he attempts to shift back and check whether Bilbo’s stretched enough, he only manages to lift himself on his elbows when Bilbo finally gets his foot hooked behind Thorin’s knee and topples him.

Luckily it’s a large bed. Thorin bounces on his side, but then Bilbo forces him on his back and follows immediately, his hands everywhere. They touch Thorin’s face, play with his hair, his beard and braids. Tug here, scratch there, and then nails dig into the skin next to Thorin’s nipples and his body trembles. He feels himself gasp, his vision whitens, but then he slams back into his body and everything in him burns.

Bilbo shifts backward, one hand wrapping around Thorin’s member to keep steady. He rises on his haunches, positions himself – and before Thorin’s jumbled mind has a chance to process what is happening, Bilbo sinks down on his cock.

He’s just barely stretched enough. Thorin’s girth, sizable for a dwarf already, always seems enormous in relation to Bilbo. And even after years Thorin still holds his breath when Bilbo takes him like this, when he feels that narrow channel reluctantly parting for him, the soft, enveloping heat pressing down on him until the rest of the world disappears.

Bilbo’s eyes are closed when Thorin glances up, a frown of concentration ceasing his brow, but not of pain. Thorin takes a deep, shuddering breath to quieten the roar in his veins, though he feels as if the slightest movement will sent him over that edge. Every muscle in his body is tight, vibrating and his cock throbs painfully where it is sheathed deeply in Bilbo’s body. Around him the soft flesh wields, but the pressure remains blinding, devouring.

With a small, squeaky noise Bilbo moves experimentally and they gasp in unison as sparks races down their respective spines. There is nothing between them now, each shudder that runs down Thorin’s spine echoing into Bilbo, and he can feel the small tremors running through the hobbit’s frame. The air boils, and then Thorin shifts his hips just so.

Bilbo yowls, hips snapping back as Thorin must hit the right spot just so, and then he moves. Thorin raises his hips to meet him, but Bilbo’s lost in his own rhythm and soon all Thorin can do is keep up. Stars flutter into his vision which oscillates between black and white and flashes of Bilbo: head tilted back in ecstasy, mouth open in a voiceless scream.

Bilbo rides him with abandon, and Thorin barely manages to cling onto his sanity, his own body reduced to blinding sensations. Then, abruptly the warm sheath around his cock tightens, a strangled noise falling from Bilbo’s throat and he spills, but Thorin never notices as his own vision fades out into pure, absolute and total bliss.

When his vision clears, Bilbo has half-collapsed on top of him, motionless but for the heavy gulps of air he takes. They both shudder when Thorin shifts and his cock moves inside Bilbo. Around him the hobbit clenches, and Thorin’s oversensitive nerves fire for a second time – but it’s too much, too much and Bilbo makes another sound like a sob.

Thorin reaches up with pudding-like arms to pull his beloved onto his chest, not caring for the mess on his stomach or the cooling sweat that covers them both. The sheets are rumpled and uncomfortable underneath his back, but a bone-deep fatigue seeps into him and all he wants is to close his eyes and sleep. He presses a gentle kiss on Bilbo’s forehead, running a hand through the unruly curls. Bilbo’s eyes are closed, but he huddles closer to Thorin, twitching only when Thorin’s cock pulls free.

Thorin knows Bilbo prefers to clean up after sex. Knows he himself is not too fond of the strange feeling of having cum leak from his ass, though he finds it stirs some possessive part of his soul to see Bilbo like this – debauched and marked and undeniably his. As warmth trickles down his spine he thinks he ought to revisit this image at some point.

But perhaps not today. Bilbo seems tired enough to not protest Thorin’s embrace or the stickiness, and he did take an involuntary bath in a freezing stream after all. Hopefully though, they managed to stave of the cold.

Thorin holds him just a bit closer. “Are you warm now?” he mumbles into Bilbo’s hair.

The hobbit barely shifts. “Hmmm,” Bilbo mumbles in agreement, obviously quite comfortable for now.

Thorin chuckles to himself as against his body Bilbo begins to snore softly. Worn out then. But he feels it himself. It’s growing dark outside by now, the sky’s blue fading. Not yet night, but they have no pressing matters to see to – and they can always clean up and have dinner a bit later.

So with a satisfied smile, Thorin closes his eyes and allows himself to drift off.

_Fin_


End file.
